


Academia Nuts

by sunkelles



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Academia, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Bickering, Enemies to Friends to In-Laws, Femslash, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Lesbian Morgana (Merlin), Platonic Relationships, Slash, Trans Male Character, Trans Merlin (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25643776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/sunkelles
Summary: Morgana Smith née Pendragon is very proud of her literary papers about Arthurian Legend. She's quite put out when one M. Emrys starts writing take-downs of all of them, and she spends a lot of her time complaining to her wife about it or writing refutes.Merlin Emrys does not like this Morgana Smith person's opinions one bit, and he makes it his goal in academia to disagree with her. This gets both easier and harder when he ends up at the same university as her, working through his final semester before presenting his dissertation. At least he's got his boyfriend to try to help him through it. A boyfriend that just so happens to be Morgana's brother.Oh bother
Relationships: Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin & Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 75





	Academia Nuts

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. this fic is what i'd like to call an anti-romcom. that's where you use "romcom" tropes for a platonic relationship  
> 2\. i've been working on this since may, so i'm just. so glad to be able to post it and get it out of my brain and out of my drafts. i'm not saying it's perfect, but i am saying it's DONE  
> 3\. i am NOT a graduate student or professor of literature. i have a literature minor from my time in undergrad and was friends with some grad students and talked to professors about how they Did The Thing, but there are probably lots of things that i get wrong here. if you know more than me and it's an easy fix, feel free to point it out in a nice way.  
> 4\. also, not british! same rules apply to the british things. i'm a us american so

Morgana has a… complicated relationship with her father. Yes, she loves him, but it’s a regrettable kind of love that she’s only half sure is returned. He’s never supported her decision to remain in academia instead of returning to work at the family company. The first few years of her relationship with Gwen, he kept harping on the idea that she would “change her mind” and eventually find a husband. 

That’s what he said about academia, too. But now, Morgana is putting herself through her master’s in medieval British literature with a focus on Arthurian legend. Is it all because she wants to write academic papers that say “Morgan le Fay did nothing wrong, fight me” and get paid for it? Why, yes, that’s exactly it. Thank you for noticing, kind sir. 

Gwen is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to her, and she’s not about to let her slip through her fingers. 

Now she’s graduating with her master’s, ready to pursue her Ph. D, she’s ready to pursue that MRS too… even if it’s a ridiculous, sexist and outdated term. 

Her baby brother’s all graduated with his BS in finance and ready to take his slot in the family company. Twenty two years old and already dreadfully boring, but that’s just the way that Arthur’s always been. Yes, she's happy enough for him, but she'd also prefer to distance herself as much as she can from the family company.

So, taking her wife’s surname was a perfectly reasonable solution. “Pendragon” is too recognizable a surname, even if she didn't mind being associated with the family company for all of her days. Besides, with a first name like Morgana, she really doesn’t need to worry about people not recognizing her name on academic papers and in journals. She just has to stipulate that they always use her full name, Morgana Smith. Done, done, and done. 

Morgana is a year into her Ph. D. program at Cambridge and starting work on her dissertation when one of her friends from the department texts her an article from a college newsletter. 

“You might want to check this out,” Elena says. Morgana does, and she hates what she sees. Some little _shit_ is tearing her master’s thesis apart. 

“Gwen!” Morgana says, “this _Emrys_ character is dragging me through the mud! And he’s wrong!” All his citations are from classicists who aren’t worth their weight in asbestos, and Morgana refuses to put up with his shitty analysis and shittier research! s

“Well,” Gwen says, pointing at his byline, “he’s just a master’s student, isn’t he?”

“He thinks he can treat my life’s work like that! With his half a master’s degree!” Morgana screeches. 

“Morgana, calm down,” Gwen says, “this is the college newsletter, not an academic review.” 

“Well then I’ll use it like the forum that it is and eviscerate him right back,” Morgana says. 

* * *

"Really, I can't believe this. This woman is so pissed that I pointed out her argument was flawed."

“Of course,” Arthur says absently. 

“You aren’t sufficiently angry about this,” Merlin says. He’s peeved that his boyfriend isn’t in his corner for this. He knows that his graduate student issues don’t seem to compare to Arthur’s corporate warfare, but the world of academia is cutthroat. Arthur could at least _pretend_ to care. Merlin pretends to care when Arthur rants about the newest big fight at the office. 

“Just tell this woman that her research is shite,” Arthur says. 

“In those words?” Merlin asks. 

“Sure,” Arthur says, “go ahead and tweet it at her for all I care.” 

“If you want to put your name to something, you should at least make sure you agree with it,” Merlin says. Arthur snatches the iPad out of Merlin’s hand and starts reading the paper. It takes about a minute before his nose crinkles in frustration.

“Okay, so,” he says, “don’t call me an idiot.” 

“But you _are_ an idiot,” Merlin says. 

“Maybe, but that's not why I have no clue what this is saying,” Arthur says. 

“It’s all academic jargon,” Merlin says, “it takes enough work for me to decipher it, and I have a master’s degree on this.” 

“Then what is it about?” 

“Arguing that Morgan le Fey wasn’t a villain, mainly,” Merlin says. 

“Well of course Morgan le Fey was the villain,” Arthur says, nose crinkling right up again, “who would argue against that? I doubt even my sister would, and she's for junk like that. In... whatever she's in."

“You don’t even know what your sister studies?” Merlin asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Something literary and feminist,” he says, “she doesn’t ask about my work, I don’t ask about hers.” That’s far enough, Merlin supposes. It’s not like he ever asks about Arthur’s job- his boyfriend just ends up prattling on about it when he’s gotten so frustrated that he’s going to pop. 

“I let Gwen listen to Morgana ramble about her papers,” Arthur says. Merlin rolls his eyes, but he doesn't dig into the issue any deeper. If Arthur wants to let his sister-in-law deal with whatever his sister is writing, that's alright with Merlin. His poor boyfriend can probably only take one academic's rambling anyway.

* * *

Morgana gets her Ph. D. Her reading of Morgan le Fay as a feminist, heroic figure through hundreds of years of Arthurian legend and its adaptations leads to much praise, along with her getting to call herself Dr. Morgana Smith. M. Emrys rises from the grave again with a critique of how Strong and Evil should not equal feminist (thank you for that unrequested opinion on feminism, Mr. Emrys) and she sends back a scathing counterpoint.

Morgana does not follow the journey of M. Emrys when he is not criticizing her work, but he finishes his first year of his Ph. D. program at Avalon University whether or not she's paying attention to him. 

* * *

"I can't believe that she's a Dr. now,” Merlin says, “as if that load of shite should get her a Ph. D!” He crosses his arms over his chest.

"Being evil shouldn’t make someone a feminist icon,” he says. 

“Is there anyone in Arthurian legend who would be feminist?” Arthur asks, eyebrows narrowing. 

“Well, no,” he says, “I don’t think so. Guinevere is always portrayed as some level of either conniving or incompetent- Morgan le Fey has been portrayed as evil for most of history, which I don’t really think is all that empowering. Morgause wasn’t a villain until the modern period, but her main character traits were “mother of Mordred” and “unfaithful” so I’m not sure I’d call that feminist either. The Lady of the Lake doesn’t tend to have any agency-” 

“So what you’re saying is that Arthurian legend isn’t very feminist?” Arthur says. 

“Basically, yeah,” Merlin says. Arthur smirks. 

“Who would have thought?” he asks sarcastically. 

“If you want me to read it over to see if normal people can understand, go ahead and ask,” Arthur says. Merlin rolls his eyes. 

“I don’t need normal people to understand it,” he says, “I just need one very thick-headed woman to.” He thinks about it for a moment, then smiles. 

“Actually,” he says, “you’d be the perfect proofreader.” 

“Oh sod off,” Arthur says, rolling his eyes. Then he leaves the room, and Merlin’s left in the office, staring at Dr. Morgana Smith’s dissertation and the empty word document open on his laptop. 

He still can’t _believe_ that Cambridge gave a Ph. D. to the woman who claims that Morgan le Fey is the feminist coming of Christ. He sighs, and rolls up his sleeves. He’s going to need every class that he took for his gender and sexuality studies minor and a hell of a lot more research to pull off a take-down like this. 

* * *

  
  
  
  


A job interview. A proper job interview for an almost professor position at Avalon University. Something full time that pays enough to get by and will be a good stepping stone to get something better later down the line. 

She wears her sharpest outfit and her sharpest smile as she walks into the job interview, but she shows only her sharp intellect and not the sharpest edges of her wit. She smiles, and softens the edges of her personality. She knows that even in academia where she can cut someone down to size on the page, if she hopes to get hired she can’t do that to people in the interview room. 

“Your responses have been professional, engaging, and thoughtful,” the interviewer says, tapping his chin. 

“Thank you,” Morgana says, when all she wants to say is _will you shut up?_

“You’ve spoken of your passion for research and betterment in your field, but what are your feelings on teaching?” 

“I assure you,” she says, “I am as passionate about teaching as I am about research.” _Lie_ , her brain whispers, but it doesn’t matter. Being an academic means suffering through either research or teaching, and since Morgana’s a researcher that means that the teaching will be her form of torture. She will manage. 

“We would like to start a 300 level course featuring feminist readings of classic literature,” the interviewer says, “would you be interested in teaching such a course?” 

“I would help you create it,” Morgana says, and it’s not even a lie this time. If there’s one thing that she loves, it’s taking classic literature and twisting it just so to get herself a feminist or a sapphic reading. He smiles, and reaches across the table to shake her hand. 

Morgana shakes it firmly, but not _too_ firmly. She’s still a woman trying to get a job. 

She gets the call offering her the job the next day, and she accepts immediately. Something below an Associate Professor Morgana Smith, fresh out of grad school. It's not the highest on the food chain, but she's still entitled to call herself a Professor. She’s so giddy that as soon as Gwen gets home from work, she turns on ABBA and the two twirl around the kitchen, laughing and kissing as much as they can manage. 

This is a good development. 

* * *

  
  
  


There’s no classroom on campus that Merlin hates quite so much as Albion Hall, 206. 

The desks are all chairs with the tiny flap desk that goes up and down on the front, and the little flappy desk tops are never big enough for students to put both a notebook and a tablet. If the students have anything bigger than a tablet, the desks aren’t even big enough for a laptop to sit on.

The chalkboard is always covered from top to bottom in white dust, so he has to try to get some of it to come off before he even attempts to write a vocabulary word up there. In the past few semesters when he’s had a class in there, he’s spent about twenty minutes trying to make the room even slightly passable to teach in. Most days that involves opening up the windows on a day when the classroom is boiling hot, or sending a warning email to students on a day when the room is so cold that they’ll need a coat not to freeze. 

Today, though, is his first day of his expos class this semester. It’s five minutes before his section starts and whoever’s teaching in there is still. TALKING. He waits by the door, stealing glances to the group of nervous looking students sitting on the other side of the door who must be part of his class. 

He takes out his phone, and looks at the time again. Four minutes before his class starts. 

This is getting _ridiculous_. Merlin knocks on the door, and then opens it up. He peeks his head in. Inside the room, he sees about twelve casually dressed undergrads sitting in a circle, with a sharply dressed woman sitting at the head of the circle. She turns her head towards him, and glares. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, “it’s just. 2 minutes before my class is due to start. I need to get set up.” _And half of my class is sitting outside, waiting._ The look softens, and Merlin can’t tell if it’s because she’s decided that he was alright to interrupt or that she doesn’t want to murder him in front of students. 

“I’m so sorry that we ran over. We were having a rousing discussion about our literature for this semester,” the instructor says, “go ahead and put away your syllabuses and head out. I promise that I won’t keep you over so long again. I just lost track of time.” The students smile at her. _Smile!_

A Black girl with dark skin and a vibrant smile even looks over to her and says, “it’s alright, professor. It’s not like I have anything better to do than talk about _Pride and Prejudice.”_ She doesn’t even sound sarcastic about it! They all smile and wave on their way out of the door, and Merlin is floored. What students are that happy about having been held seven minutes after class? What kind of witchcraft is this? 

The instructor stands up, and grabs her book bag. She shoves the extra syllabuses into the pocket. Her black hair falls down her shoulders in elegant locks, and with her burgundy blouse and her black pencil skirt, she looks every bit the professional. 

If she’s a new graduate student that he’s never met, she’s over-dressed. She’s also over-qualified. Every ounce of her being screams competence as he hears the click-clack of her heels down the floor. 

A curly blonde head peaks through the doorway. 

“Wait,” Merlin says, because he realizes that this woman is not going to introduce herself if he doesn’t ask her to, “Are you the new professor?” He hopes that he’s wrong, but, honestly. He couldn’t imagine that he would be. This woman oozes confidence befitting faculty, and he remembers seeing a course on the university listing by the new Dr. Smith focusing on feminist readings of classics… including _Pride and Prejudice_. There’s no way that this young, confident instructor isn’t Morgana Smith. 

“Yes, I’m Dr. Smith,” she says, “and you are?” He has two options here. Tell the truth, or run away, grab his students and teach the class in the stairwell for the foreseeable future. Even though the second option could be wiser, he settles on the first.

“Mr. Emrys,” he says, meeting title for title, even though his means a lot less. Dr. Smith’s look sours. 

“Ah, Emrys,” she says, “I’ve read your “critiques” of my work.” She actually uses the air quotes. 

“I stand by every word I’ve ever written about your drivel,” he says firmly.

“Drivel?” she asks, “who exactly was just given a faculty job, and who is the Graduate Teaching Assistant?” 

“A title and a job don’t make you right,” he says, just the same way that magic and a vendetta don't make Morgan le Fey a hero. 

“And a cock and terrible takes on feminism don’t make you a professor, do they?” Morgana says. Merlin feels the anger build, but it’s not the type of anger that fuels his clever quips. It’s the sort that makes him want to yell and scream and tear down the cissexist establishment. 

He needs a cock to be a man, but needs to be a “woman” to talk about feminism. He needs “down with cis” tatooed on his god damn forehead. 

Morgana smirks, then she turns and marches out of the room, clickety-clack of her heels right behind her. The blonde, white girl who was peeking in the whole time nearly bounces into the room, followed by a crowd of interested looking undergrads. 

He takes a deep breath, and tries to regain his bearings. He’s a teacher, this is his class, and his opinions on feminism and presence or absence or a cock are not going to make or break this: his reactions to and observations about the students are. And, well. His first observation is that this is the most excited he’s ever seen a group of students for the first day of his Expos I class.

“What’s the deal with you and Dr. Smith?” the girl asks. 

“We disagree about Arthurian legend,” Merlin says. 

“What?” the girl asks, walking up so close to him that it's crowding him “that’s so boring for that kind of argument!” The rest of the students circle behind him, and he feels like he’s being followed by the paparazzi. 

“Academics get heated,” he says. A white boy at the back with medium brown hair and an honest to god high school letterman jacket shakes his head. 

“Boring,” he says. 

“Yeah,” says a girl who looks Indian, “are you sure it’s not flirting?” 

“I’m gay,” Merlin says, because. He loves death and dying, right? Might as well start off on sixteen different wrong feet today like some centipede of cringe. Let his students in on way too much of his personal life, all on the first day. 

“Even better,” the blonde girl says, “I love a good cat fight.” Merlin sighs in frustration, but he knows that he’s not about to get this class calmed down to discuss the syllabus today. 

“Alright,” he says, “how about we do introductions. You can tell me about your own enemies.” A look of excitement appears on the faces of his students. At least one good thing came of today. Now he knows what these kids look like when they’re interested in something. 

* * *

  
  


Morgana knows that it’s petty. She knows that it doesn’t matter. She also knows that she hates Merlin Emrys and his stupid opinions, and she hates having to see his face every single Tuesday and Thursday as she passes over custody of the classroom. 

Morgana hates that she’s sitting here in her own living room by her beautiful wife, stewing over a big-eared idiot who wouldn’t know a nuanced textual reading if it slapped him in the face. 

Morgana drapes herself over Gwen, who’s already sitting on the couch watching a movie, chomping on a bowl of popcorn. 

“What’s the matter?” Gwen asks, “still obsessing over that Emrys fellow?” 

“I hate him,” Morgana says. She grabs a handful of popcorn and shoves it into her mouth. She chews angrily. 

“Having a nemesis could spark some great creative energy,” Gwen suggests, “you and Arthur were always trying to one-up each other with your grades as children.” And then, of course, there was the Great Battle For Gwen’s Heart back in high school. Since Arthur was two years younger than them and Morgana already had the leg up of being hotter and also the best friend, the battle was won before it had ever truly begun. Morgana hasn’t lucked out that way with Emrys. 

“But that was sibling rivalry,” she says. 

“Think of the Brontë sisters!” Gwen says, “they let spite for Jane Austen fuel their writing, and they completed some of the most well-known works in English literature.” 

“Anne didn't, also Charlotte and Emily aren't as good as Jane Austen anyway,” Morgana says. She loves Charlotte Brontë as much as the next literature major, but she’s not about to argue that she loves her more than Jane Austen. That would just be ridiculous. _Pride and Prejudice_ is on her syllabus instead of _Jane Eyre_ for a reason. 

“You were the established academic and he attacked your first,” Gwen says, “so if anyone’s the Jane Austen here, it’s you.” Morgana considers that for a moment, then curls up against Gwen. 

“And trust me,” Gwen says, kissing her forehead, “you are _twice_ the scholar that this Emrys is.” Morgana wishes that she could just believe Gwen, but it’s getting harder and harder the more sources of information start to circulate his work as well as hers. 

“Do you want to watch _Pride and Prejudice_?” Gwen asks. 

“Which version?” Morgana asks. 

“Whichever you want,” Gwen says, which is giving Morgana far too much power. There are so many versions of _Pride and Prejudice_ , and Morgana loves _all of them_. She has a lesson plan to work on for tomorrow, but she really just wants to stay curled up on the couch with Gwen and watch Elizabeth Bennett make incorrect assumptions and correct them. And snark, of course.

“Yeah,” she says, “let’s do that.” 

* * *

  
  
  


Merlin sends Arthur a skeptical look. He thinks that he might be hallucinating, because there’s no way that his boyfriend just said the words he thought he heard. Even if it weren't the last week of November and a bit too early to be thinking about Christmas, Merlin thinks he'd be shocked by the words. 

“A company Christmas party?” Merlin asks. 

“You don’t have to come,” Arthur asserts, “actually, you might make such a fool of yourself that I don’t even _want_ you there.” Merlin rolls his eyes. 

“If you feel that way,” Merlin says, “I could always call Gwaine-” Arthur’s glare could burn civilizations. Apparently, bringing up the ex, even playfully, is not the best of ideas. 

“You don’t have to,” Arthur says again, looking down at his plate instead of at Merlin. He stabs at his baked potato. 

“I want to,” Merlin says, and Arthur perks up immediately, “it’s just- I’m not really someone to show off to the family.” Merlin knows that he’s not exactly what Uther Pendragon would want his son to end up with. Merlin is a big-eared, broke academic- not to mention male, and trans to boot. He’s not the Jackie Kennedy type he’s sure that Uther had envisioned. 

“You are about to get your PhD,” Arthur says, “you have nothing to be ashamed of. I’m in this for the long-haul.” _Long-haul_ , Merlin thinks with shivers. He nods. He doesn’t know if he could manage to say something right now, but that’s just. Wow. Long-haul. 

Merlin thinks that he could get used to that. 

* * *

  
  
  
  


If there’s one thing that Morgana has learned, it’s that Gwen is very hard to say no to when she flashes her puppy dog eyes. 

“Are you sure that you can’t make it to your father’s Christmas Party?” her wife asks. 

“You know I have the faculty party at the same time,” Morgana says, “if I’m trying to schmooze my way into the rest of the department’s good graces, I have to actually be there to do that.” 

“But that means that I have to go alone,” Gwen says. When that doesn't phase her wife, Gwen changes tactics.

She holds her hands out in front of her, and asks, "please ma'am, it's Christmas."

Morgana rolls her eyes, and finishes the _Community_ reference, "it's December tenth." And it actually _is_ December tenth. What's up with all the Christmas parties? 

"Please Morgs," Gwen says.

 _“You_ don’t have to go to the company party,” Morgana says, “you should go to my party to keep _me_ company.” Gwen frowns. 

“I would love to,” Gwen says, “but who would keep your brother from tearing his hair out?” Morgana shrugs. If Arthur pulls his hair out, that’s his problem. It’s not like he’s taken enough of an interest in her life to even know what she studies. 

"That's what he gets for stealing you from me," Morgana says pointedly.

“We went on like, two dates,” Gwen says. 

“Two dates too many,” Morgana says stubbornly. 

“When we were in _high school_!” Gwen says indignantly. Even after twelve years, the fact that Arthur got to Gwen first still stings. Morgana opens her mouth, ready to rehash the same teasing argument that they’ve had a hundred times. Gwen leans forward and kisses her. 

“What was that for?” Morgana asks, feeling a smirk curl on her face. 

“To shut you up,” Gwen says triumphantly. 

“Oh,” Morgana says, “then don’t let me stop you.” Gwen doesn’t. 

* * *

  
  


Arthur adjusts Merlin’s tie. 

“You’re strangling me,” Merlin says, going to touch the knot himself. Arthur bats his hand away like a fly. 

“Don’t be a baby,” he says, adjusting it one last time. Then, Arthur lets go of his tie and lets it flop against Merlin’s white shirt. 

“I don’t know why we have to be quite this fancy,” Merlin says, just to be petulant. 

“If you’re going to meet my father, your appearance needs to be impeccable,” Arthur says. 

“Are you saying that I normally look peccable?” Merlin asks, mock offense dripping from his tone. 

“If “peccable” means like a broke academic who sleeps in his cubicle, then yes,” Arthur says. 

“I’ll have you know I have only slept in my cubicle once!” he says. The other times, he spent the entire night hashing out research on his laptop with no sleep involved.

“And that makes it better?” Arthur asks, which Merlin doesn’t have a retort for. He glances over at Arthur, who looks stunning as always in his own suit and his red, plaid. Arthur’s ties are almost always red, but they're never a solid red.

“You know, I’ve never seen you wear a solid red tie,” Merlin says. Arthur doesn’t bother to look over at him, instead making a beeline across the room to the small table where he keeps his keys. 

“Yeah, because I don’t want to look like that arsewipe of a President they’ve got in the States,” Arthur says, plucking his keys off the table. Alright. Fair. Arthur opens the door, and Merlin follows him out the door. 

As embarrassing as it is, Merlin’s never actually _been_ to Pendragon Industries. He’s seen enough pictures, but since Arthur’s never invited him over, Merlin wasn’t about to show up just to “hang out”. Either Arthur would bring him around when he was ready, or they’d break up. It’s not that he _wanted_ to break up, but he can't ride all his hopes on this one guy, even though he lo- likes. He likes him.

“ _That’s_ your dad’s building?” Merlin squeaks. He looks up, and the glass building seems to stretch all the way to the sky. Sure, Merlin grew up in a city, but. The idea of his boyfriend’s family owning an entire _skyscraper_ is a bit fucking much. 

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur says, grabbing Merlin by the hand and dragging him towards the door, “we’re rich. This isn’t new information.” By the time that they’re through the front doors, Merlin’s lost whatever breath he had. 

The entire front room is made of shining white stone- maybe some kind of marble. The ceilings are high enough that he can tell that it’s two or three stories of the building just dedicated to _elegance._ The elevator at the far end of the room that can only be described as a hall are shining glass elevator shafts that must go all the way to the top of the building. 

Throughout the room there are tables upon tables with bright red tablecloths, and bright red Pendragon Industries banners all over each and every wall. Arthur calls it “Pendragon Red” since it’s the same color as the company logo, but Merlin’s not about to dignify _that._ That would give the prat an even bigger head. Arthur already looks like one of those little plastic toys that the other grad students put up in their cubicles of their favorite fandom characters.

Around the room are women in the fanciest dresses that he’s ever seen- every man in a well-tailored suit. The room is already filled to the brim with high-profile attendees, and well. He knew that his boyfriend had a high profile job, knew he had _money,_ but he didn’t “get” it. All he can think about now is how the last Christmas party he went to was in his last mentor teacher from grad school’s basement, where they all had hot chocolate and wore ugly Christmas sweaters. 

He’s glad that Arthur made him get a suit, because if he felt any more out of place, Merlin thinks he would have seeped into the ground. Maybe his melted remains would have formed the shape of a sword and they could put him in the lake, so the lady can choose the next king. Maybe Arthur would pick up his weird, swordly body and become the next _King_ Arthur, just to rub it in Merlin’s face. 

By the time that they finally get to their designated table, Merlin has spoken to more rich people than he had before in his entire _life_. 

There’s an upper middle aged white man with a serious brow and a serious suit and a stunning Black woman around his age in a bright red dress. There are three empty chairs at the table. 

“Arthur!” the girl says, “it’s so good to see you.” Her eyes drift to Merlin and she sends him a curious look. 

“Is this the plus one that your father mentioned?” she asks. 

“This is Merlin,” Arthur says. 

The girl sends him a look, and prompts, “And he’s your?” 

“Boyfriend,” Arthur says, firmly. Uther just frowns. 

“ _This_ is the academic?” Uther asks.

“Yes,” Arthur says, “he almost has his PhD.” 

“We don’t need another one of those in the family,” Uther says. Merlin can sense the hostility there. Arthur had mentioned that Uther wasn’t pleased Morgana did not stay to work at the family business, but Merlin hadn’t imagined it would be this chilly. 

“I don’t think that we’re in the same field,” Merlin says, “so it’s probably alright.” Uther’s frown does not lessen. Merlin realizes that he doesn’t actually know what field Morgana is in anyway, so he can’t assure Uther that he is an entirely separate shade of annoying and pretentious. 

“Actually, I don’t know what your sister studies,” Merlin says. He doesn't know how the rest of the Pendragons will react, so Merlin doesn't say that's because Arthur doesn't know.

“That’s because I don’t care,” Arthur says. 

“Arthur,” the other woman says, sounding scandalized. 

“What?” Arthur says, “I doubt if she can name my exact position.” 

“She could still say that you have a finance major,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest, “do you even know what her field is?” 

“History?” Arthur asks. 

“Literature,” the woman says, “she studies Arthurian Legend.” Arthur narrows his eyes. 

“Isn’t that what you study?” he asks, sending Merlin a confused look. Merlin nods, and gets a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

“Well, I’m sure that they have a lot in common then,” the woman says, smiling a little. Arthur sits down in the middle chair, and gestures for Merlin to sit down beside the woman. 

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says, turning to her, “I, uh, didn’t catch your name.” The woman giggles. 

“Oh yes,” she says, “Pendragons are terrible at introductions, aren’t they?” Merlin nods. The woman smiles. 

“I’m Gwen Smith,” she says, “Arthur’s sister-in-law.” Well that would explain some things. Gwen must be married to Morgana Pendragon. 

“Where _is_ Morgana anyway?” Arthur asks, “she’s not supposed to get out of family affairs like this.” 

“She had a faculty Christmas party,” Gwen says, “if she plans to move up in the department, she has to go to those things.” Merlin feels a sense of dread settle over him as he remembers his own mentor mentioning the party tonight. 

“Which university does Morgana work at?” he asks nervously. Morgana studies Arthurian Legend. She’s married to a woman named Smith, and wants to distance herself from her family. She’s currently attending a faculty Christmas party. 

“Avalon Uni,” Gwen says, smiling. Arthur chooses that phrase to zero in on, like a hawk who finally spotted a mouse.

“That’s where Merlin goes!” 

“I, uh.” He nods, then, because he doesn’t know if he could make the words go. 

“I’m sure that Morgana knows you, since your department is so small,” she says, “what’s your last name, Merlin?” He opens his mouth and tries to speak, but finds that he can’t make noise.  
  
“Oh Merlin,” Arthur says, “are you really so thick that you can’t say your own last name?” Merlin makes a screeching noise, and Arthur laughs at him. Then, he turns to Gwen. 

“It’s Emrys,” Arthur tells her. Merlin sees recognition pass through Gwen’s eyes, and oh god. Oh shit. Oh fuckity fuckity _fuck_. He’s been in an academic feud with Arthur’s sister for the past however-the-fuck-long. 

“What an unusual last name,” Gwen says, with a little smirk crossing her face. 

“It’s not that unusual,” Merlin says, “there’s at least six or seven Emrys families in the Greater London Area.” He pulled those numbers out of his arse, of course, but he needs something to get Gwen off his trail. He’s read Morgana’s papers, knows that she goes for blood, and he can’t exactly imagine that her wife would be any different. 

“You just made that up to cover up your weird name, didn’t you?” Arthur asks. 

“I did not!” Merlin says. Gwen smiles, and nods. 

“Of course not,” Gwen says, “why would he make up something as silly as that?” 

“Because he’s an idiot,” Arthur says. 

“Am not!” Merlin retorts, like someone who is not ten years old. 

“Are too!” Arthur shoots back, like another person who is not ten years old. Uther frowns. 

“This is going to be a long night, isn’t it?” he asks, glancing between the three of them. None of the twenty-somethings grace that with a response. Which, of course means that Uther is right. 

It’s going to be a dreadfully long night. 

* * *

  
  
  


Morgana smiles and jokes and charms her way through the night. While she’s not fond of using her upper class charms, she’s certainly still capable of it. Once the night is done, she feels as though she has effectively schmoozed and charmed and networked all through the department. She’s even got one of the modern literature teachers interested in a co-paper about adaptations of Morgan le Fey in the modern day. 

All in all, Morgana has had a productive evening. She wonders how her wife is faring. She hopes that she’s not bored out of her mind. 

* * *

Gwen keeps smirking at him so indiscreetly that Merlin thinks that Arthur might actually notice. At least, he might if Arthur weren’t busy arguing with his father. 

“I still don’t understand what you could see in him,” Uther says. Merlin would be hurt if he were under the impression that Uther was in the possession of a soul. 

“He’s right here,” Arthur whispers. Merlin pointedly looks away. 

“So,” Merlin says, glancing over at Gwen, “how about that weather?” Gwen nods. 

“The weather sure has been weather, lately,” she says. 

“Why are you with him?” Uther asks, “is it to spite me, somehow? I’m frustrated that your sister became an academic so you bring home the most incompetent one that you can manage.” 

“I’m with him because I _like him,_ father!” Arthur hisses. His face is bright red with rage, and Merlin feels his turn red as well. He’s never exactly had a partner defend his honor before. 

Gwen gently taps his arm. 

“Let’s go get some more wine,” she says, “we’ll need it to get through a night like this.” Merlin bites his lip nervously. Gwen glances over at Arthur and Uther, who are still fighting over his presence loudly enough that people are starting to stare. 

“Yes,” Merlin agrees, “let’s go get some wine.” Gwen Smith seems like the lesser of two evils at the moment, and Merlin will take a slight discomfort over whatever’s going on with Arthur’s father. They walk together in awkward silence until they finally reach the counter, where the bar is thankfully open. 

He orders a glass of chardonnay (yes, any is fine, Arthur is the one who gets upset if his doesn’t taste oak-y enough) and Gwen orders a glass of pinot noir. She leans against the counter as they wait, and crosses her arms over her chest. 

“Arthur seems quite serious about you,” she says, “he’s never brought a date to the Christmas Party before.” 

“If his father reacts like this to everyone he brings home, I would understand why,” Merlin says. Being trans, Merlin’s developed a thick skin, but Uther’s words would have destroyed people who had endured less vitriol in their lives. 

“Maybe I should rephrase,” Gwen says, “Arthur’s never let Uther meet one of his partners, ever.” Merlin feels the weight of those words settle into his soul, burrowing in there like a badger that’s decided it’s time to hibernate right there in his heart. 

“He knew that no one would ever be good enough for Uther, so he didn’t want to deal with the scrutiny,” Gwen says, “if it wasn’t going to work out, why bother?” Merlin finds himself nodding, even though what she’s saying doesn’t seem to make any sense. 

Why would _he_ be here then? Why would Arthur risk that for him? 

“It’s nice to see that he’s found someone worth fighting for,” Gwen says. Merlin opens his mouth, ready to say something in response, but the bartender calls out their order. He turns away to grab their glasses and passes Gwen her red. She takes a sip of her wine, savoring the taste. Then she smiles at him. 

“I’m glad that he found you,” she says, and Merlin just finds that so _baffling._ For one, he’s nothing worth fighting over, and for two- Gwen just found out that he’s _Emrys._ Shouldn’t that be a scarlet letter in her eyes? 

“You don’t hate me because I’m your wife’s professional nemesis?” Merlin asks. Gwen sends him a look that’s just as baffled as he feels. 

“Why would that make me hate you?” Gwen asks. 

“Most people don’t like the people that their spouse doesn’t like,” Merlin says. Gwen’s look doesn’t look any less baffled, so he decides to continue. Why not bury his foot deeper in his mouth? 

“I read an article a few weeks ago about a man who decided to be enemies with all his wife’s enemies when they got married even though he’d never hated anyone ever. It seemed like a serious show of love. Hating me because your wife does just makes sense, right?” Gwen laughs at that, and her eyes twinkle as they crinkle.

“If I took on all of Morgana’s enemies,” Gwen says, “I’d be fighting half of London by now.” Merlin laughs. 

Gwen keeps smiling, and adds, “and that’s not to mention all the people she shouts out on the internet. It would be _exhausting_ to hate everyone that she hates. I make it my mission to only hate the ones who really hurt her. Academic rivalries don’t count.” Merlin finds himself nodding in relief, but he takes a large sip of wine just to settle some of the lingering nerves. 

“You seem nice enough,” Gwen says, “and you’re making Arthur happy.” 

“Are you, uh,” he says, “are you going to tell her that I’m her brother’s boyfriend?” He doesn’t know what seems more terrifying right now: Gwen telling Morgana or Gwen _not_ telling Morgana. 

“Oh no,” Gwen says, “I want to see this unfold naturally. It will be more fun that way.” There’s a glint in her eyes that reminds him of when Arthur is about to play a joke on him that Arthur finds hilarious and he finds annoying. 

“That’s so sadistic,” he says, and he’s half serious. Only half though. 

“I’m a nice person, Merlin,” she says, “but I’m not a saint. Everyone likes to watch a little chaos every once in a while.” Merlin thinks about all of the drama he loves watching unfold in Arthurian Legend, in Greek Mythology, in classic literature- and okay, yeah. He can’t say that’s not true. 

But when he likes to watch chaos unfold, it’s not normally from his own life. This discord has consequences, probably. Real life’s not a romantic comedy where the problems are all wrapped up with a few quips and a wedding. 

* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Morgana feels a little yucky when she gets home from the party. She doesn’t _like_ when she has to go into schmooze mode. It might be a social necessity and the only way to maintain a job, but Morgana just wants to tumble with everyone who stands in her way, especially those with thinly veiled prejudices towards her and other minority groups. 

She wishes that she could just plow through all of those people without fear of losing her job, like she does in her social circles. It might not make her the most well-liked person in the room, but it always makes her feel like she’s living her life the way that she wants to. Do some people find her insufferable? Sure. Are those people weak? Most definitely. 

When Gwen gets home from her party, she’s absolutely giddy. Morgana latches onto that to distract her from her own compromised morals. 

“I know that father mentioned Arthur was bringing a plus one this time,” Morgana says. She had almost given up on Arthur finding anyone. It wasn’t that her little brother didn’t have her charms (even she had to admit that) but he could never find a woman willing to put up with the bullshit that came along with them for longer than a few months. 

“Arthur brought his boyfriend,” Gwen says. 

“Ah,” Morgana says. She’s a little surprised that Arthur is interested in men as well, but honestly. No woman was ever going to deal with him. She’s not surprised that the first one who stuck around through all of it was a man. 

“I really think this one’s the one for him,” Gwen says. 

“Really?” 

“Really!” Gwen says. 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

“Hm.” Morgana has to say that she’s intrigued by that idea. 

“What’s his name?” 

“Merlin,” Gwen says. 

“Really? _Merlin_?” Gwen might as well have said that the boy’s name was Lancelot. It would have made for a better punchline. 

“Really.” 

“Well,” Morgana says, “that’s a strange pairing, considering the legends. I never thought about King Arthur and the wizard Merlin ending up together.” 

“Most people never thought about Morgan le Fey being a hero, either,” Gwen says with a soft smile, “people can surprise you.” Morgana finds herself smiling at that. 

“People can surprise you,” she repeats. Gwen takes her hand and squeezes. 

In the next few days, Morgana thinks of ways to help her students engage more critically with the texts and to help identify their own biases. If she can’t always swing her sword of justice in circles with superiors, that doesn’t mean that she can’t try to help hone her students’ analytical skills and knowledge of the world around them. 

When she comes back the next semester to teach another section of Great Books (By Women) she will do so with a more racially diverse syllabus and more ideas for how to get her students to engage with the content and go looking for diverse books of their own. She’s honestly embarrassed that she hadn’t included _Their Eyes Were Watching God_ and a few of the others she’s adding now, but everyone must live and learn: even professors. 

* * *

  
  
  


It’s been three days since the party, and Merlin still feels like a rubber band that’s been stretched to its limit. Between the newfound knowledge that Morgana Smith is Arthur’s sister and his creeping sense of dread over presenting his dissertation, he’s just. He’s going to burst. It’s happening! 

At this point he’s just accepted it. It’s a fact of life that Merlin is going to explode all over the pavement and leave some sort of atomic shadow in his wake. It will happen eventually. 

And that’s only assuming that he lives through his final papers and grading all his students’ finals and _presenting his dissertation_. He already sort of feels like Sir Gawain waiting for the right time to meet the Green Knight again and let him cut off his head. 

The whole thing with the Green Knight was just a trick, though, set up by Morgan le Fey to scare Queen Guinevere to death. Real heroic woman, that Morgan le Fey. He doesn’t understand why Arthur's sister is so obsessed with her. 

He lets out a frustrated sigh. He’ll have to deal with the Morgana problem eventually, but he’ll hold out on that until he presents his dissertation. Then, he can deal with whatever the fallout of being the arch-nemesis of Arthur’s sister will bring him. 

* * *

  
  
  


After noticing that class has already gone two minutes over, Morgana dismisses her students from their Socratic seminar. She starts gathering her supplies to place back in her bag so that she can evacuate the room before she has to see Emrys. Then the bastard rushes into the room with his arms full of papers. 

With the heater running at full blast, they of course go flying everywhere like the letters in that scene in Harry Potter. 

“I am so sorry,” he says, “it’s just- my backpack broke open on my way to class this morning and everything’s gone to rubbish and I-” Morgana rolls her eyes, but she goes to pick up the papers that have scattered near her feet. 

A few of her students are still lingering near the door, and they peak in. 

“Do you need help?” a ginger white girl named Meg asks. 

“Yes please,” Emrys says, and then there’s a whole group of people all gathering his papers to put on the desk. 

“There should be 20 papers,” he says, “that’s how many students are in my class.” Morgana picks up yet another paper, and glances at the header. Her eyes trail to the instructor line: Merlin Emrys. That’s strange. Morgana has never met a Merlin, now she’s found out about two in close proximity to her within a month. Morgana doesn’t dwell on the strange detail, though. 

She just grabs as many papers as she can see. Then, she counts the papers. 

“I have 6,” she says. Meg starts counting her own. 

“I have 8!” she chirps. 

Then, Morgana hears another voice from the other end call out, “I have 5!” 

“And I still have one,” Emrys says, sighing in relief, “we’ve got all of them.” Morgana doesn’t waste a moment. She walks the papers over to him so that she can be done with this whole stupid situation. 

“Here,” she says. He looks relieved enough to start crying. 

“Thank you,” he says. Maybe Morgana’s been _too_ nice to him today. He doesn’t deserve to have his papers scattered to the wind, but that doesn’t mean that she just has to be nice about everything, right? 

“Try to actually do a little magic and keep your papers together next time, _Merlin_ ,” she says. Merlin’s look turns from grateful to angry in a moment. 

“Except, no amount of magic can fix that terrible analysis,” she adds, just to be extra petty. 

“It seems one of us is living up to our name today, Morgana,” he says, “always the _villain_ .” The two students who are still in the room are looking uncomfortably between each other, and Morgana wants to retort. She _does._

She wants to dig something in so deep that Emrys can never say anything bad about her or her research again. But Morgana feels something sinking in her stomach, like an anchor plunging to rock bottom. 

Would burning Merlin Emrys so badly that he cries for his mother make him right? At least… would it make him right about _her?_ Morgana glances at the clock and sees that half of passing period has already gone by and there’s only 5 minutes before Emrys’s class starts. 

Morgana shakes her head as she leaves the room. She tries to purge the feeling of guilt and worry from her heart, because he _can’t_ be right. She would never lose the moral high ground to a spineless man like Merlin Emrys. 

* * *

  
  
  
  


Merlin just has to get through his defense of his dissertation this week. He just has to get through that, and then talk to Arthur about how his father doesn’t think that Merlin’s good enough for him and that his sister hates him and then Arthur is going to decide that Merlin isn’t worth it and he’s going to flunk his presentation and not get his PhD and lose his GA job and all credibility and- 

Merlin grabs his knee, and starts making small circles in the fabric to steady himself. This is going to be _fine._ It has to be, right? There’s no other options. 

* * *

  
  


Gwen is sitting at the kitchen table, looking down at her phone. Morgana slides in beside her. 

“Am I the asshole?” Morgana asks. She doesn’t go out of her way to be “nice”, but Morgana does try to be _good._ She wants to make a positive impact, and she doesn’t actually want to cause anyone damage. 

Even people who piss her off. 

“Is this about Emrys?” Gwen asks, not even looking up from her phone. 

“Yes,” Morgana says, “I think I said something needlessly hurtful this time. I might be the asshole.” If Gwen doesn’t assuage her worries, she might have to post the story on that reddit forum and seek validation from strangers. Or pure, unfiltered honesty. The users of r/AmItheAsshole don’t tend to hold back if they think that OP is the party in the wrong. 

“Don’t worry about it,” she says with a little smirk, “I don’t think that one mean comment from you is going to bring down the great Emrys.” There’s something that Gwen knows about this man that Morgana doesn’t. 

“Gwen,” she says. Gwen just smirks even wider and says, “You might even be seeing more of him.” Morgana finds herself frozen in confusion as Gwen turns off her phone screen and smiles on her way through the kitchen to the back door. 

“What do you mean!” Morgana demands. Gwen just laughs as she opens the door, and then sends Morgana one last teasing smile. 

“You’ll see,” Gwen sing-songs, and she slides through the door, slamming it behind her. Morgana is left confused and frustrated, but at least she no longer thinks that she’s the asshole. 

Right now she knows that it’s Gwen. 

* * *

  
  
  
  


Merlin tries his hardest to avoid crossing paths with Morgana during finals week. It’s a little difficult given that all of the finals in their department are administered in the classrooms the classes are held in during their normal class time. But. Merlin manages to avoid running into her before the final that overlaps by sitting in the empty classroom across the hall and occasionally peaking out the door to check for her while listening for her. 

He gets into the room a mere two unprofessional minutes before the exam is set to start. But with a class of sixteen who are all taking the expos I final no one cares about, he doesn’t find himself feeling guilty that he saved himself some pain. 

* * *

  
  
  
  


The day that he has to present his dissertation comes. Merlin would like to say that he handled the stress of the day with grace, waking up at a reasonable time after a peaceful night of sleep, eating a hearty breakfast, and getting to the room a mere fifteen minutes early after having given his presentation calmly to a wall. 

Just about every word of that would be a lie. Merlin goes to bed early that night, hoping that it might bring him a good night’s sleep. Arthur curls up beside him when he finally goes to bed, big spoon as always, as Merlin tries to think about literally anything but the million ways that his presentation can crash and burn. He grasps the sheet above him, trying to work out his nerves by kneading at the fabric. 

His breathing just keeps speeding up as every nightmare scenario flashes through his mind, whispers of “unprepared” “fraud” and “failure” bounce through his head, all the while his inner voice keeps telling him to just give up so that the committee doesn’t see what an unprepared idiot poser he really is.

Well. He’s not getting to sleep thinking like _that._ Maybe if he can convince himself that he’s prepared and that this is going to be fine, then he can get to sleep. He worms his way out of Arthur’s arms and goes into the living room, looking over his paper frantically, adjusting his cue cards, and giving his speech to a wall. 

It’s 4:30 AM, and he still doesn’t feel prepared. 

He spends hours preparing, gets to school before 8 AM, and then steals room 206 where he teaches expos I to keep preparing in. "Preparing" might mean hyperventilating. No one could prove that, though. He hears the door open, and then, like an idiot, he looks to see who’s opening it instead of covering his face and pretending that he doesn’t exist. 

He sees Morgana Smith, sending him a look of horror. He can’t tell if it’s horror at him or horror for him, but it’s horror. 

“Emrys,” she hisses, “what are you _doing?”_ He just giggles nervously, and takes in a short, unsatisfying breath of air. 

“I have a final that starts in fifteen minutes in here!” she screeches, “my students can’t see a T.A. hyperventilating before they get their tests! It will _ruin_ them!” Merlin lets out a little terrified screech (like a dying mouse, or a pterodactyl) and Morgana’s look turns concerned. 

“Are you having a panic attack?” she asks. Merlin shrugs, but the motion just ends up as a jerk in a shrugging direction, and then suddenly his arms are wrapped around his torso, hugging himself. 

Bright blue eyes meet his, and he feels strong, sure hands on his shoulders. Her fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt firmly. 

“Breathe with me,” she orders. Then, he hears her inhale slowly and loudly, exhale slowly and loudly. 

Inhale. Exhale. 

Inhale. Exhale. 

By the fourth set of breaths, he tries to line up his breathing with hers, and a few breaths down the line, he feels his breathing pattern go back to normal. 

He’s not calm, far from it, but he’s not so addled with anxiety that he can’t even breathe properly. He still feels like the sky is falling, but at least he can put a hand to his collarbone and take deep breaths to ground himself. 

“Alright,” Morgana says, taking her hands off his shoulders, “what’s the problem?” 

“I don’t have a problem,” Merlin says, but judging by the way that his voice raises two octaves by the end of his phrase, he knows he’s not convincing. Morgana doesn’t even bat an eye. 

“I present my dissertation in half an hour,” he admits. All he can think about is how much they’ll hate him. They’ll hate his hair. They’ll hate his content. They’ll hate his voice. They’ll think that they’ve heard better public speaking at fourth grade spelling bees. They’ll laugh. 

Most of all, they’ll wonder how he even got in the program to begin with. 

“Then what are you doing here?” she asks, sending him an _are you daft?_ look. 

“Hyperventilating,” he says. He thought that one was pretty obvious.

“Why aren’t you doing something to keep your mind off of it?” she asks, “you know, talk at a wall, play a game on your phone. Call your mum. Walk around campus. Anything is better than wallowing in your nerves in an empty classroom.” 

“But they’re going to hate me,” he says. No amount of keeping his mind off of it will prevent the shitshow that his presentation will be. 

“ _I_ hate you,” Morgana says, “that doesn’t make your work unrespectable.” Merlin just stares at her blankly. He couldn’t have heard that right. Morgana lets out a frustrated little growl. 

“I don’t like you,” she says, “I think that your stances are terrible, but your writing and analysis aren’t totally shite.” Merlin feels her words hit him like a freight train. Morgana Smith actually respects his work. 

“You think so?” he asks. Morgana rolls her eyes. 

“Well now you’re just fishing,” she says. She grabs him by the shoulders, and pulls him up as she stands up. He’s still dazed from the whole interaction, but he brushes the dust off his pants. 

Morgana turns him around, and shoves him out of the corner. 

“Go get your fucking doctorate,” she orders, “my undergrads will be flooding the place in a minute, and I don’t want to explain your sorry arse to them.” Merlin nods his head, and feels a sense of certainty flood through him. If Morgana Smith doesn’t think he’s shite, well. If he’s earned some level of respect from a woman who hates him, then he can earn it from people with more neutral opinions. 

He can present his research and knock their metaphorical socks off. Or, maybe not knock their socks off, but scrape by. 

At the very least not die. 

* * *

  
  
  
  


Merlin manages to get through his presentation without dying. He doesn’t break into tears, even when he gets three questions in a row that he can only respond with a single word answer to. 

Maybe their socks aren’t knocked off, but they do call him back in after discussing the presentation. They _do_ call him Dr. Emrys. And then they do come out afterwards and all snack on the cookies that his mom brought for the tiny little reception that she made consisting of her, Arthur, Gaius, and Will. 

His favorite people in the world chat and smile with him, eating their little snack foods, and then they drag him out to dinner. Arthur promises to pay for all of them at one of the fanciest places in town, much to his mother and Gauis’s protests (and Will’s delight). It doesn’t feel quite real that he’s _done it,_ but he has. It’s over. He got the degree, he got the title, and he doesn’t have to worry about that anymore. 

Now he has other things to worry about. Like finding and keeping a long term job, and telling his boyfriend that his sister is Merlin’s academic rival, and really she’s not quite so bad when she’s not being a stuck-up twit or writing incorrect papers. 

He needs to sort out the Morgana situation. He knows that he needs to sort out the Morgana situation, but he can’t quite work up the courage to do so. He spends the rest of that finals week trying to figure out how to break the news to both of them, but then it turns out he doesn’t have to. Arthur has a suggestion that works perfectly. 

“I know that you wanted to spend Christmas dinner with your family,” Arthur says, “but how about lunch at my sister’s?” 

“We normally have lunch at father’s, but they’re going through a bit of a tiff and much as I love father, I see Morgana less.” 

“Um,” Merlin says, “yeah. Sure.” It takes him a moment more to process what he’s just agreed to, and then he realizes how perfectly this will work with his plan. 

“Actually, I _definitely_ I think that we should go over to theirs,” Merlin says. He thinks that he really ought to just rip the band-aid off all at once. Reveal to Arthur and Morgana all at the same time, and give Gwen a show of it. That’s the least the woman deserves to get out of this nonsense. 

Arthur sends him a confused look. 

“You sure sound enthusiastic about meeting my sister,” Arthur says, “I sure hope that I haven’t been too nice when I’ve described her. She _is_ a witch.” Merlin has to pretend to cough to stifle a laugh. 

“I, uh,” he says, “I’m just excited to see Gwen again. Gwen is lovely.” Arthur nods along with that. 

“Gwen _is_ lovely,” he repeats. And that’s the end of that. 

  
  
  
  


Merlin tries not to fret too much about “meeting” Morgana in the next few days, but with his anxiety- well, that’s kind of impossible. He worries about just about everything, and he worries about things that he _should_ worry about even more than he worries about other things. 

Meeting Morgana is a perfectly reasonable thing to worry about, which makes it harder to talk himself out of worrying about.

When he wakes Arthur up a few times during the night tossing and turning, Arthur grumbles. He wraps his arms back around Merlin’s middle and holds him tight at as the big spoon, kissing his neck. 

“You’re safe,” he murmurs, “you got your degree, you weren’t fired. It’s alright.” It doesn’t target Merlin’s specific anxieties, but- well. He can’t say that his boyfriend’s strong arms around his chest and his head in the crook of his neck doesn’t help him calm down a _little._

It’s a bit harder to worry when he’s engulfed in love. 

* * *

  
  
  


Morgana crosses her arms over her chest, and frowns at the center piece on the coffee table. 

“Do you think it’s over the top?” she asks her wife. Gwen peaks her head out of the kitchen, holding a pen in one hand and a pad of paper in the other. 

“The centerpiece?” Gwen asks. 

“Yes,” Morgana says, “it’s made of fake holly with candy canes, red ribbons, and fairy lights. Do you think it’s tacky?” 

“I wouldn’t have bought if I thought it were tacky,” Gwen says, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I just don’t want Arthur’s boyfriend to think that we have as bad of taste as Arthur does,” Morgana says. Gwen’s lips quirk into a smile. 

“He’s dating Arthur, isn’t he? There’s no way he’ll think that _we’re_ tacky,” Gwen says, “your poor brother doesn’t have the sense of style that God gave a corvid.” Gwen rips the top sheet of paper off of the pad, sets the pad down on the coffee table, and wraps the tail of her pen around the single sheet. Then, she reaches for her purse and shoves the sheet inside of it. 

“I finished up the list of what we need for lunch tomorrow,” Gwen says, “I’ll run to the store and be right back.”

“No, _we’ll_ be right back,” she insists. 

“Are you sure you want to go shopping with me?” Gwen asks, “it _is_ Christmas Eve.”

“What am I going to do, listen to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on repeat?” Morgana asks, rolling her eyes. She's not about to sit around waiting for Arthur and his boyfriend when she can keep her wife company. Gwen grins. 

“Alright then,” she says, “couple’s trip it is.” 

  
  


When they get home, Morgana and Gwen do their last minute prep work and finish up their end of the cooking. Yes, Morgana _does_ put Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on repeat, just to be a little shit. Morgana is pulling her batch of chocolate chip cookies out of the over when she hears the knock at the door. 

“I’ll get it!” Gwen calls, and Morgana sets the cookie sheet on the stove. She pulls the cookie cooling tray out of the cabinet, and sets it down beside the stove-top. Then, she starts pulling the cookies off the sheet and onto the cooling tray. She hears footsteps so loud that they can only be Arthur’s stumbling into the kitchen, and he sets the casserole and side dish that he and his boyfriend agreed to bring on the counter beside the other portions of dinner. 

“Merlin, did you put the presents under the tree?” Arthur calls out. 

“Yes, I’m not an idiot,” a weirdly familiar voice calls back. Morgana peels the last cookie off the tray, and places it on the cooling rack. Morgana rolls her eyes, and pushes past Arthur in the doorway that spits out into the living room. Merlin Emrys is sitting on her couch, waving nervously at her. 

“Hi,” he says. Well. Morgana is about seventy six percent sure that this isn’t really happening right now. She should at least _try_ to make it go away. 

She turns her head and looks towards the kitchen. Then, she takes a deep breath. When she turns her head again, she’s sure that her brother’s boyfriend will stop looking like her work rival. 

It doesn’t work. Merlin is still there, tacky Christmas wreath sweater, big ears, awkward smile and all. 

“ _You’re_ Arthur’s Merlin?” she asks. 

“Surprise,” Emrys says, pantomiming a rainbow with his hands. Morgana thinks that she should feel angry, but the only thing that she can think about is how batshit fucking crazy this is. She feels a laugh bubble from her lips, and then the dam breaks. She laughs, and she laughs, and then she sits down on the couch beside Merlin and she laughs some more. 

Her sides are starting to hurt, honestly, from how hard she’s laughing. 

Gwen sits down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. 

“Oh,” she says, “this is even better than I imagined.” Arthur comes in from the kitchen, and sends Morgana a confused look. 

“Uh?” he asks. Morgana just laughs harder, and Gwen starts giggling with her. 

“This is your mess, Merlin,” she says, smiling that sunny smile of hers. Morgana wants to stop laughing to taunt him, but she hasn’t found the mechanism to make that stop yet. 

“Uh,” Merlin says, “you know the Morgana that I’m always complaining about at work?” 

“Yes?” Arthur asks, sounding annoyed, “honestly, how is that relevant right now?” Morgana’s laughter was about to die down, but it starts up again at how stupid her brother is. Merlin tilts his head in Morgana’s direction. 

“Because that’s her,” he says, smiling awkwardly. He looks shocked for a moment, then disbelieving. 

“For real?” he asks. Merlin just nods. Then, Arthur starts laughing. Maybe that’s the catalyst that Morgana finally need to stop, because she’s able to make herself stop. 

God, her sides hurt now. 

Arthur points at her, and then Merlin, and then her again. 

“I,” laughter, “I can’t” laughter, “BELIEVE THIS!” Laughter. 

“How long have you known?” he asks, finally reining himself in. 

“Since the Christmas Party,” Merlin admits, “when I met Gwen.” Gwen is just grinning from ear to ear, as if this entire conversation is the best Christmas present that she’s ever gotten. 

“Wait, you kept this from me?” Morgana asks, feeling a little angry that Gwen knew and didn’t clue her in. 

“Of course,” Gwen says, “I wasn’t going to miss out on you finding out like this.” And alright, Morgana has to admit this was far more fun (and funny) than finding out earlier might have been. And maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t _hate_ Merlin as much as she used to, even if his opinions _are_ shite. 

“Well,” Morgana says, “welcome to the family, I suppose. You must be sticking around if you’ve made it this far.” 

“I wouldn’t want to presume,” Merlin says, sending Arthur a nervous look. Arthur glances back to the kitchen, then, and Morgana can see the ah-ha forming on his face. 

“Actually,” he says, holding his hands up in front of him in a wait gesture, “just- just wait a second.” Then, he nearly runs into the kitchen and pops out a moment later with his black briefcase.

“I’ve been planning to do this for a while, actually,” he says, reaching up to rub the back of his neck with his left hand, “I just never got the courage.” 

In a moment, Arthur is on bended knee in front of Morgana’s aging couch in front her work rival, who is still wearing the ugliest Christmas sweater that she’s ever seen. Gwen’s smile gets even wider, and Morgana’s left to stare at Merlin’s baffled face as Arthur sets the briefcase down on the coffee table and pulls out a- small, velvet box? 

He pops the lid open like the hood of a car, and a glimmering silver ring with tiny little diamond appears. Arthur bends down on one knee in front of Merlin. 

He looks up at Merlin Emrys with love in his eyes, holds out the ring, and says, “you absolute idiot, will you-” Merlin doesn’t even let him finish his sentence before he’s thrown himself onto Arthur, sealing his lips in the world’s most awkward kiss. He falls all the way onto Arthur, his legs falling over onto the coffee table, pushing both the centerpiece and Arthur’s briefcase off of it. 

His papers fly everywhere, and the two of them are laughing and kissing in what amounts to a ball on the floor, and Morgana just- her laughter bubbles to the surface again. Her sides are really going to ache in the morning. 

_This might as well happen,_ she thinks, _things can’t get anymore batshit than they already are._

Gwen leans her head on Morgana’s shoulder. 

“Merry Christmas,” she says, smirking up at her wife. Morgana sends her a heatless glare, and then pecks a quick kiss on her lips. 

“I can’t believe this,” she says, “actually, I can’t believe you.” She wishes that she were mad about this, but mainly she’s just delighted. Gwen kept this stupid, ridiculous secret until the most entertaining time for it to burst, and Morgana’s honestly so grateful for that. 

She wasn’t presenting her dissertation, or anything, but if she were angry and stressed about this in her last week of classes it might have made giving and grading her finals a bigger pain in the ass than they should have been. 

Gwen glances over to Arthur and Merlin, who are finally coming untangled. Merlin pushes himself off of Arthur’s lap and then stands up behind him, awkwardly walking across the room to the armchair. He sits down on it in that awkward, straight-backed and closed in way people do when they don’t feel comfortable in a space. Arthur, however, is sitting cross-legged in the space between the coffee table and the couch. He glances over at his uncomfortable looking boyfriend.

“Um,” Arthur says, glancing from Merlin to her and then back to Merlin, “I hope this is okay with both of you?” Merlin bites his lip, and doesn’t respond. He looks to Morgana, waiting for her to speak. The ball in her court, and she can be as petty or mature as she wants. She decides to take the middle ground. 

“Well,” Morgana says, “I guess you _are_ supposed to hate your in-laws, so this works out just fine.” Merlin smiles mockingly, and then holds up his left hand, showing her the front and showing off his ring. Then, he presses all of his fingers down except for the middle finger he points to the sky. 

_Fuck you_ , it says. 

Morgana smiles too,” Fuck you too, brother-in-law.” Gwen nudges her in the side. 

“ _Future_ brother-in-law,” she corrects. Morgana rolls her eyes. 

“Same difference,” she says. This is a weird as fuck place for her Christmas to have ended up, but Morgana’s not about to complain. Merlin Emrys the person isn’t nearly as bad as Merlin Emrys the paper-writer, especially when he's getting her thinking about issues or she's talking him through panic attacks. If they can manage not to tear each other apart academically and Merlin ends up with a job at a different university, she’s sure they’ll be able to get on just fine. If he makes her brother happy, Morgana’s not going to judge him for anything other than his shitty opinions on Arthurian legend. 

It’ll take a little bickering to make things work, of course, but that’s what family is supposed to do. It's especially true for in-laws.

**Author's Note:**

> i make a lot of references in this, but the article about the guy taking on his wife's enemies is a JOY to read. you should check it out https://www.thecut.com/2019/12/my-wifes-enemies-are-now-my-enemies-too.html


End file.
